


Vanishing Point

by sistabro



Series: Selections from a Purgatory Bestiary [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s07e23 Survival of the Fittest, Gen, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sistabro/pseuds/sistabro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the point is what's missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanishing Point

**Author's Note:**

> Art by [Pamela Campagna.](http://www.thisiscolossal.com/2012/05/new-thread-nail-portraits-by-pamela-campagna/)

[ ](http://www.thisiscolossal.com/?p=21690)

There is a wall in their path: a line of dark gray on the horizon that grows a dimension as they approach, like drawing perspectives in seventh grade art class with a ruler, dot to line to polygon. The size of it is stunning, goes on like a road turned sideways until it hits the vanishing point, too uniform to to be anything Dean would consider natural, though in this place, who knows.

Eventually they get close enough to see that it isn't a gray wall at all, but covered with black and white splotches. A crumbling white wall scrawled with shadows and dirt, and his eyes makes shapes out of the contrasts of their own accord: an old hunched lady, a cat on a fence, the crooked house they lived in when Sam was in 5th grade. 

A copse of trees hides it from sight for a bit, and when they clear the fence of thorny trunks and razor leaves, they are almost on top the wall, the immense towering geometry of it erasing half of the horizon. The path turns to run parallel, and Dean sees that they aren't shadows at all but pictures made of lines. Long straight black lines nested together to form pictures of people in the negative spaces. Art, something that wouldn't be out of place back home even if he's never seen anything quite like it before. For just a moment, he let's himself pretend that he's walking through a gallery or museum. He turns away quickly to watch the puffs of dust kicked up by his boots until the edges of his vision aren't blurry anymore. The only time he's actually been in a gallery or museum is with Sam .

A rasping noise, like tires on fine gravel, makes Dean look up again, hand on his knife hilt. The face has moved, turned to follow them as they pass. Shit, not art after all.

The wall goes on and on, black and white and full of watchers. It makes his skin crawl and he edges a little farther away from it, hating himself a little for still wishing Sam was here.


End file.
